A Season of Change
by squeakyfingers
Summary: Sequel to My Thanksgiving [gc] Complete.
1. Part 1

'A Season of Change' Part One  
By: Allison  
  
Disclaimer: I will never own these characters, though I had hoped for CBS to wrap them up as a nice Christmas gift for me....oh well, maybe next year.  
  
A/N: This is a continuation...a continuation is this...clueless as to what's going on? Read the first story, "My Thanksgiving" and all shall become clear. It has been written for the twelve days of Christmas going on at GraveShiftCSI. Technically my day is tomorrow...but I am posting this today to get the ball rolling.  
  
Summary: An incident at a crime scene has Catherine and Grissom on edge.... And leaves one of the other CSI's wondering about what the two are hiding.  
  
  
Dusk fell upon Las Vegas, casting shadows on the ground, letting the sins of the night run rampant through the streets. The members of the LVPD CSI night shift yearned for these types of nights; where time could be spent gathering evidence, avoiding talk of the yearly Christmas party, held for the first time at Grissom's townhouse. Gathering themselves, in the layout room, they anxiously awaited the assignments they were to be given.  
  
"Sara, Nick...Jumper at the Monoco. 33 years old. Warrick, Catherine, you're with me," Grissom stated his eyes never leaving the case files.  
  
"Gris. What do we got?" the younger CSI rose, pushing back his chair back as he spoke.  
  
"Robbery gone bad.... two dead bodies at a jewelry store downtown, a place called Seagle's Jewelry."  
  
"Swanky..."   
  
Catherine Willows raked her fingers through her short blonde hair, her body leaning against the doorframe of the break room, clearly pleased with her reply. Glancing over the tops of his wire frame glasses Grissom couldn't tell if her reason for being there was merely for the effect of her somewhat sarcastic comment, or because she was genuinely exhausted. He assumed it was the latter.   
Sending a half smile in his direction, Catherine moved out into the hallway, each step lighted-hearted, and yet, still a little more laborious than the next. He knew she needed a break. She'd only been back three and a half weeks and already she was pushing her limits, maxing out on overtime like the rest of them. Off handedly he wondered if he should mention something about it to her after shift.  
  
"Yo Gris! You coming?"  
  
The room was deserted now, minus himself and the case file he was still holding. Sara and Nick had already left for their scene. Sighing heavily and setting his misgivings aside for the time being, Grissom picked up his field kit and headed for the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
As the three entered the now abandoned jewelry store, their eyes flicked over each area of it, attempting to catch even the tiniest of clues.  
  
"Warrick, you start with the register, and the area surrounding it. Catherine, behind the register. I'm going to talk to this witness Brass rounded up."   
  
Catherine and Warrick exchanged puzzled looks with each other at Grissom's odd behavior. Known quite well for his lack of people skills, he usually passed off the questioning to one of the other CSI's. Catherine meant to ask him about it, but when she turned her head back in Grissom's direction, he was gone.  
  
  
"Hey Warrick! Pass me a pair of tweezers, would ya? Top left side of my kit."  
Spying an errant hair on the carpet in front of her, Catherine squatted down and grabbed it with the tweezers she had just been handed. Suddenly the ground beneath had become very unstable for her, and she teetered to the point of nearly falling over. Like a merry-go-round that didn't stop, the room spun until Catherine felt the overwhelming urge to throw up.  
'Not now, please not now.' She thought, right arm flailing, trying to find something anything that would support her. No longer caring whether she would upset the crime scene in front of her, she dropped to her knees and squeezed her eyes shut.  
  
"Cath? Catherine? Are you alright? Talk to me!"  
  
Warrick was shouting in her ear, shaking her shoulder in hopes that he would get some sort of response. For a second he thought her heard a muffled reply but he wasn't sure. "Grissom, hey Grissom!" Warrick hoped that he was within earshot. There was no way he was going to leave Catherine there alone, in the state she was in.   
  
"Get Grissom, please? Warrick..." He would know what to do; he could offer her some much needed assistance.  
  
"Cath he's coming...shh.." Still her eyes weren't open, rubbing her back gently he heared another barely audible mutter, 'bathroom'.  
  
"Bathroom? Catherine, do you need to throw up?" But she didn't answer. And Warrick was forced to wait until Grissom arrived.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Ma'am, could you describe the assailant for me? Height, hair color, build...anything would be helpful."  
  
Grissom wondered why he had taken this task as opposed to dusting for prints or taking photos. Catherine was much better at it than he was. He hadn't wanted to make her feel like he was watching her all the time; and Warrick was with her, so he'd let her work the scene. She knew how to handle herself but still he wished she would take things slower.  
  
"Grissom, hey Grissom!"  
  
Warrick was shouting at him from inside the store, a sense of urgency in his voice. Immediately Grissom's heart sank and he abandoned the woman on the corner.  
  
"Sir? Sir, are we finished? Can I go? Sir?!"  
  
Grissom paid little attention to the woman's antics; in his gut, he knew something was very wrong. Crossing the street on his way back to Seagle's he could only speculate as to what it was.  
The door was partially open when he made it over there, bells dangling on the handle that signaled each customer's entry. Warrick was squatting down behind the register.  
  
"Gris, its Catherine.... she won't tell me what's wrong. One minute she's gathering evidence, the next she's on the floor. I tried to help, but she told me to get you."  
  
"Catherine?" he whispered, crouching down to face her. "Cath, look at me, please? Are you alright?"   
  
He knew why she wanted him. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew something like this could happen. And, for a moment, it filled him with a sense of pure terror.   
  
"Please, open your eyes and look at me."  
  
Responding to his worry riddled tone, her eyes opened slightly, and he slipped his arm around her.  
  
"Come on, let's get you outside..."  
  
Pulling Catherine to her feet, he felt her stumble and readjusted his arms; wrapping them around her waist as she nestled her left arm around his neck. 'Please god, let her be alright.'  
  
TBC... 


	2. Part 2

'A Season of Change' Part Two  
  
By: Allison and Manda  
  
  
  
A/N: In my haste of putting out the first chapter I completely forgot to mention Manda's deep involvement in this fic. She has become my faithful and much appreciated co-author, starting at this part...Manda, I couldn't have done it without you. Thank You.  
  
Not until she felt Grissom's arm wrap itself around her, did Catherine force herself to look at him. Bursts of color tore their way into her eyes, doubling the intense pounding that had begun in her head. 'Focus.' She cursed inwardly, the world spinning around like a roulette wheel at the MGM casino. When he pulled her onto her feet, she rose dutifully, aware only of the fact that he was leading her somewhere. And that his arms were around her.  
  
"Grissom..." she murmured, her face hot against his cool skin. 'Only a few more steps to the door....' But her stomach grumbled in disagreement, bile building at the back of her throat.  
  
"Come on Cath...a few more steps." Grissom's voice was urging her forward, and soon the night air was whipping at her face, onlookers baffled at the sight of them.  
  
* * * * *  
  
There was a dumpster in the back alleyway and Grissom led her there, rubbing her back in slow circular motion as she vomited up the contents of her stomach. Coughing and heaving for nearly five minutes, beads of sweat dripped off her brow; mingling with overbearing stench of rotten food.  
  
"I don't think I have a stomach left," she managed to mutter, hands curled around the edges of the dumpster.   
  
"Maybe not," Grissom pointed out a misshapen, leathery-gray lump half obscured by banana peels and spent coffee filters. "Or maybe....our evidence is on its way out with the garbage.  
  
  
  
And Catherine vomited again.  
  
"Great, now I'm contaminating the evidence," she sighed, resting her head on her hands for a moment.  
  
  
  
"Evidence aside Catherine, you need to go home. Get some rest. It's been a long day...Warrick can handle this while I drop you off."  
  
"Should I throw up in an evidence bag, so he can compare me against the DNA," she chuckled wearily; her feeble joke given with an equal weakness, and Grissom sighed deeply.   
  
"I'm serious, you're taking things way to fast."  
  
"I know. I'm just...a little scared. Okay? I don't know what happened. I was perfectly fine and then suddenly everything was spinning, and my head started pounding. I need...I need a second to process all of it."  
  
"Well you go home and get some rest, and process your information, Catherine. We'll process ours."  
  
"I don't have a choice do I?" Smiling at him she edged closer, shaking the hair out of her eyes.   
  
"You always have a choice Catherine. You can rest up...or I can give you leave, whichever you prefer." He replied, his eyes twinkling, mystery playing upon his face.  
  
"And what exactly is that supposed to--"  
  
"You guys alright over there?"  
  
"Yeah. Swiping the back of her hand over her mouth, Catherine cleared her throat and turned her head in the direction of Warrick's voice. "Yeah Warrick, we're fine."  
  
"You're sure?" Grissom's query was soft, and as Warrick's footsteps drew could be heard advancing, he leaned closer as Catherine nodded. "I want you to go home Catherine. We'll handle this."  
  
"Hey Cath." And Warrick appeared, then, Grissom withdrawing himself from Catherine's personal space as if stung by some invisible bee of indiscretion. "You gonna need a ride home?"  
  
Catherine's lips moved, and Grissom tilted his head in momentary confusion. If it weren't for the fluid motion in which she spoke, he would never have pieced together her words... and even still, a moment passed from when she turned back to him, and he was able to respond, himself. Words were chosen carefully, in order to avoid arousing suspicion.  
  
"Warrick I want you to stay behind and finish processing the scene...I have a few things I need to take care of back at the lab. I'll drop Catherine off on the way."  
  
"Sure thing Grissom."  
  
"My savior..." she muttered unpleasantly at the thought of being alone and miserable at home by herself. Moving towards them, she teetered slightly, using Grissom's shoulder to regain her equilibrium.  
  
"Can you make it to the Tahoe?" Grissom asked, concern in his eyes.  
  
"I don't need you to carry me, I can walk. Just stay close, okay?"  
  
A look of understanding passed between the two elder CSI's, and Grissom slipped his hand around Catherine's waist once again. Completely comfortable in their present state of closeness, they started for Grissom's Tahoe, which was parked across the street.  
  
"See ya Cath. Feel better."  
  
"Thanks Warrick, see ya." Smiling weakly, she resisted laying her head on Grissom's shoulder.  
  
As they walked off, Warrick sensed that they were leaving him out of the loop, but decided it was best to leave it be. Grabbing his fingerprint powder out of his kit, he returned to the task of processing the scene. His questions would have to wait until later...   
  
* * * * *  
  
It was nearing one a.m. when Sara and Nick returned from their crime scene, evidence in hand. Nick had rushed off to DNA, leaving Sara to take the photo negatives to the print lab.  
  
  
  
Rifling through the folder of negatives en route, her gaze fell across a sheaf of papers, accidentally shoved into the collection of film, with Grissom's hasty scribbling across page after page of technical notes regarding insect movements. "Whatever this is...could be important." She muttered, and chose to investigate a detour, in the direction of Gil Grissom's isolated, insect-ridden office.  
  
  
  
Not bothering to look up when she knocked on his door, Sara merely felt compelled to plop herself conveniently in the chair located in front of his desk. "Earth to Grissom? You there?"  
  
  
  
"What can I do for you Sara?" He wasn't facing her; rather his back was turned as his head tilted to glance up above his desk, where a spider plant balanced precariously in its holder upon a high shelf. Sara recognized the piece as being a gift from Catherine's daughter, Lindsey, had presented to Grissom only months prior, on his birthday. Not a genuine article, the girl had been instructed to build it in art class, and creatively fashioned a lopsided clay centipede into a planter.  
  
  
  
Sara found it clumsy and to childish for the workplace, but she lacked personal effects in her own workspace, and was well aware that her co-worker thought her cool for exercising that policy. Catherine had Lindsey. Grissom had....Lindsey, sometimes, when she'd visit, she'd shower him with handmade presents. And when that didn't happen he'd feed his racing cockroaches with great dedication and fervor. Nick would brag about his mom's home cooking and stick her picture in his locker...Warrick had his one-step-a-day list, to help curb his gambling addiction. But Sara, only Sara was alone. Sara Sidle had Sara Sidle and felt she needed nothing more than that.   
  
"I was just wondering where Catherine was; I needed an opinion on some blood spatter found at our scene. Do you know where I can find her?" Sara replied, forgetting about the notes she had intended to return to him.  
  
"She isn't here."  
  
"Oh...well then where exactly is she? I thought she was working that jewelry store scene with you and Warrick."  
  
"She was, I sent her home."  
  
"You sent her home?" Sara echoed, eyebrows raised slightly. "Gosh Grissom, since when have you been so sensitive to our personal needs?"  
  
"Since the strongest CSI I know threw up at crime scene." Grissom's response was simple, his stare level and unblinking.  
  
Sara stared back, an expression of disbelief on her face. 'The strongest CSI I know..." the phrase bounced like a pinball in her head. Distinctly, she remembered the day last week when Catherine had refused to leave, even though Grissom had insisted upon it. And she also remembered Catherine's four and half month long absence; still unexplained except for a few quiet mutterings from Grissom. Strong? Maybe. But was she the strongest? Sara wasn't so sure.  
  
"So she accepted your offer this time? Interesting..."  
  
"Would you mind telling me what you're referring too?" he replied, his tone becoming slightly harsh.  
  
"I'm TALKING, about the slack you've been cutting her the past few weeks, Grissom." She folded her arms lightly against her powder blue lab coat. "Look, I know Catherine's got a kid to support...but if you're going to keep letting her slack off when the rest of us are carrying her workload...sooner or later, you're going to have to tell us why."  
  
"Catherine's putting in just as much overtime as the rest of us, Sara. She was sick; I sent her home. A CSI is no good if they're so sick they can't think straight; we all need to be at our best. As for her personal life, that is neither yours', nor the rest of CSI's, business. It's best not to lecture on something you know nothing about. If she sees fit to tell you what's going on in her life, fine. Otherwise, leave it be."  
  
"Fine." She uncrossed her arms and stood there, just for a moment, dissatisfied expression spreading over her stagnant features. "When you talk to her, let her know we could use her help." She spun on her heels and left, Grissom remaining as he was, not watching her go. His mind was on Catherine at the moment, and he wondered if, perhaps, he should send her something...flowers maybe. Something orange to reflect the fire in her eyes when she found a clue that could solve a case in hours. Tigerlilies...she had always loved them. Sorrow passed over him as he realized they would have to wait, that because of Cath's condition they could further complicate the situation.  
  
Picking up the phone to dial, he paused, holding his hand above the buttons. He'd just have to think of something else, after he had called Catherine. In his heart, he needed to make sure she was doing okay. Dialing quickly, he waited as the line rang twice before hearing the customary click of someone picking up.  
  
"Hello. Lindsey? Could you get your mom for me?"  
  
There was a momentary pause, a scuffle as Grissom imagined the child slipping down from the kitchen counter. The only way she could reach the phone was to climb onto the formica counter... and Catherine always hated that. After a second more had passed Catherine's voice breathless, came onto the line.  
  
"Yeah Grissom?" She sounded winded, and he raised his brows in concern... which she couldn't see. "Sorry...I had to do Lindsey's laundry. She's in the school play tomorrow."  
  
  
  
"You should be resting." Grissom berated her, gently. "Catherine, I'll stop by on my way off shift...Give you a hand."  
  
"It's bad enough I'm going to miss the opening of Lindsey's play. I can't tell her she won't have a clean costume in time." Agitation had begun to creep into Catherine's tone, and she lapsed into silence for a moment. "Look Gil...I'm sorry. It's just..."  
  
"I know." He wished for a moment he was there, that he could lend a hand and ease the pressure. "Don't worry about it, Catherine. Just promise me you'll get some rest afterwards?"  
  
"I have to call the doctors' office first." She was rummaging around papers scratching against the table. "You'd think I would have the number memorized by now."  
  
"I'm sure its just the flu.."  
  
"But what if it isn't Gil? What if-"  
  
"Didn't I tell you before to think positively?" He couldn't let her finish her sentence, couldn't bear to hear the words aloud again. "I'll even go with you. I promise everything will be fine, trust me, okay?"  
  
He heard coughing on the other end, and the faint sound of her body lying down on the couch. At least she was taking a short break.  
  
"I think I'm going to nap while her costumes in the dryer Gil. I'd better go. I should make that appointment..."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"And Gil....?" She yawned.  
  
"Yea?"  
  
"Thanks for coming...."  
  
"Your welcome...now get some rest."  
  
"Mmhmm...night. I love you Gil."  
  
"I love you too," he replied smiling as he said the words; his worries lessened.   
  
Setting the phone on the receiver, he gathered his files in preparation to meet up with Warrick. He didn't see the shadow peeking out from the doorway...the light causing it to cascade against the floor. Nor, did he see its exit, stealthily back into the depths of CSI, lying in wait to find the piece that would put this puzzle together.  
  
TBC. 


	3. Part 3

A Season of Change Part 3  
  
Hours ago it seemed, Warrick had heard Grissom and Sara's arguing from down the hall, in the layout room. Grissom's calm rational voice offsetting Sara's harsh agitated one. She had stomped off...and Grissom had not followed; unmoving, unwilling to let her temper throw him from his spot up on the white horse; keeping watch over his kingdom with undying calmness and little emotion.  
  
  
  
But, the hours of night shift had waned, the coming of the early morning sun drenching its rays upon Las Vegas, signaling the end of shift for some. Warrick had stayed...examining a potential lead in the night's only case, while Grissom gave him a stoic goodbye, walking out the door promptly at 8 o clock.   
  
"Hey Warrick..."  
  
"Sara, Grissom's gone... coast is clear," he replied, a hint of laughter in his voice as the female CSI's shoulders relaxed and she entered the room.  
  
"Very funny Warrick, did anyone ever tell you that you're just a barrel of laughs?" She slumped into a chair across the table from where he was standing, giving him that 'Don't mess with me look' she often used when someone happened to invade her bubble of self-protection.  
  
"I try. Why are you still here?"  
  
"Running prints on the case from the Monoco...I think our jumper may have had a little help."  
  
"Ain't that a bitch?"   
  
His eyes were fixated on the microscope before him, hands rapidly adjusting the focus knobs, his prior comment having somewhat of dual meaning. Curiosity found her, and idly she wondered what he could have discovered. Normally she would have gone to investigate, the thrill of new evidence enticing her, but at the moment she was content to sit there and wait for him to tell her what he found. But he didn't.  
  
"So you and Grissom really had it out earlier."  
  
"I would rather not talk about that, if you don't mind."  
  
"He's right you know," Warrick replied, removing the slide out from under scope and placing it on the table. "We all have stuff, Sara. Things we don't talk about around the office. You, Me, Nick, Greg, Doc, Catherine, even Grissom--"  
  
"That isn't the point. The point is that it's affecting us, the way we work. If we're going to be pushing more papers, and working more cases-for Catherine's sake, shouldn't she at least tell us why?"   
  
"If it was that serious, I am sure she would."  
  
"I think it is serious."   
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me," she said softly, wringing her hands as she spoke.  
  
"You think...that-"  
  
"I said I think its serious...."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
He stood on the stoop, hand poised, ready to knock. Then he stopped. 'She could be sleeping' he thought, testing the knob and finding it locked. Fishing for the key she had given him, he inserted it, opening the door slowly. Sure enough, he found her on the couch, sleeping peacefully.   
  
Setting the groceries he'd bought and the surprise he'd found for her on the counter, Grissom set about making breakfast. Soon the smell of eggs, sautéed onions, and green pepper wafted through the house. He knew burritos were Catherine's favorite, so he had made a special trip, so he could make them for her.  
  
"Count on you to come over and cook." A voice behind him stated, near to laughter.  
  
"Someone has too. All those pop tarts and nutri-grain bars you feed your child. How are you feeling?"  
  
"Better," she replied, situating herself on a stool nearby. "Glad your little escapades woke me up, I would have gotten up late...it smells wonderful Gil, thanks." Leaning over in her chair, in an action now very common, she brushed her lips against his cheeks. First the right one, and then the left, letting the warmth of his skin wash over her.  
  
"What do you have to do today that's so important?"   
  
"It's what we have to do, you said you would go with me... I made an appointment for eleven a.m. with Dr. Mendel...." Gazing at the colorful assortment of fixings on the counter, Catherine, bit her lip. "I don't know if my stomach can take all that..."  
  
His blue eyes suddenly filled with guilt, upon realizing his folly. "I'm sorry, I...I could make you some soup, if you don't think you can eat this..."  
  
"No...no...you went through the trouble. I have to at least try one."  
  
A comfortable silence fell between the two as Grissom continued cooking. Catherine's elbows were on the counter, her head resting in her hands...eyes half closed. The sleep she had received on the couch had not sustained her for long, her energy long gone. Noting how the man in front of her had gone to great lengths to prepare her favorite breakfast for her, when it was set in front of her, she took a bite and let the taste wash over her tongue. Though she knew it wouldn't stay in her stomach for long, at least she could enjoy it now.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Serious? Care to tell me where you got this information Sara?" Warrick asked, fire in his eyes as the two continued talking. Work had been abandoned long ago, in favor of the idle gossip Sara had begun to provide.  
  
Ashamed, she turned away from him, picking herself up out of the chair and walking across the room. " I was angry...I still am...hadn't planned to stand there or anything. I was going to go back into Grissom's office and talk to him...I didn't mean to overhear."  
  
"Yea..."  
  
"Grissom...he was talking to Catherine, on the phone. He sounded worried, and you know Gris...stone-cold Grissom. From what I could gather, it had something to do with what happened earlier. Whatever that was."  
  
"I'm not sure I should be hearing this Sara. It sounds personal...something Catherine doesn't want us to know about."  
  
In all truth, Warrick wasn't sure what he could handle hearing. Catherine was a friend, a colleague. He too had his own suspicions, fears that ran deep within him. He knew he'd rather remain ignorant to the situation, than have Sara tell him, and he be forced to talk to Catherine about it. It wasn't any of his business, he knew that; so why couldn't Sara leave it be?  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Grissom had held back Catherine's hair as she threw up the remains of her breakfast into the toilet, her body rejecting the food. Afterwards he had held her, her tears staining his shirt. As he had looked down at her, he knew it was partially his own fault, and pangs of guilt hit his stomach. No one deserved to feel like this so close to Christmas, especially Catherine.  
  
Now, an hour later, they were seated in the doctor's office, Catherine's hands clasped in her lap as she fiddled with her thumbs. The clock read 10:50, and soon she could no longer bear the wait, getting up and pacing the floor.  
  
It was going to be a long day...  
  
TBC.... 


	4. Part 4

'A Season of Change' Part 4  
By: Allison and Manda  
  
Walking out of the office an hour later, Catherine felt more nervous than when   
she had arrived. Hand clasped tightly in Grissom's she listened intently to Dr. Mendel.   
He had told them he would rush her test results, and secretly she thanked the lord,   
knowing she would be unable to enjoy the holidays until she had heard the news.  
  
"Make sure she rests and gets a lot of fluids. Catherine, take the night off from   
work, at this point I wouldn't be too worried, but it's best to stay cautious," he told her,   
repeating things she had already ran over many times in her head.  
  
"She has the night off," interjected Grissom, receiving an ice-cold stare in return.   
Obviously, she had planned to return to work that night, sick or not. Leaning in close to   
her, until his lips were only centimeters away from her ear, he whispered, "Now we can   
go see Lindsey's play, together…"  
  
"That sounds great," she whispered back, exhaustion writing a thousand words of   
sadness and regret into the ridges of her forehead. It wasn't ideal, to want to see her   
daughter's play knowing full well that she would have a difficult time enjoying it. "And   
I'll take you up on that offer for soup, later, if it's still available."  
  
"Anytime, Catherine."   
  
Lindsey's grade school was close by, and once Catherine had received her weekly   
prescription, Grissom took her there, ushering her into the auditorium, leaning heavily   
upon his arm as they took their seats in the forth row, center, amongst a crowd of students   
and parents. Lindsey had been dropped off earlier, in the charge of Catherine's sister, and   
Catherine was forced to remain content that someone else was taking precautions to see   
that the child had everything she would need for her part.  
  
"What part is she playing again?" Grissom asked, amidst the shouts of children,   
and the odd glances other parents were throwing at Catherine.  
  
"Florence Nightingale." Catherine responded, a wry smile spreading over her lips.   
"It's a 'live historical essay', as I've been sternly informed of for the past three weeks."  
  
" Christmas eve…you think they'd perform a Christmas play…I'm sure it will be   
wonderful," he smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, letting her body relax   
itself into his. The voices hushed as the lights went down, and even as the curtains drew   
open, he could see Catherine fighting to stay awake, desperate to enjoy her child's   
performance.   
  
"I am a Vietnam shoulder, marching onto the field of battle to fight for my   
right…" A child had stepped onto the stage, adorned in full Vietnam regalia, clutching a   
wooden broom handle and looking all the world as if he were about to be stunned into   
submission by the mere presence of the audience. "… to party." His hesitant finish and   
incorrect usage triggered a ripple of laughter throughout the audience, and as Grissom   
glanced over, he saw Catherine's lips had curved up into a light smile, as much of a   
reaction as it seemed she could muster.  
  
"Not party, Billy!" A loud hiss could be heard from stage right and Billy's head   
swung over as he reacted to the words, and quickly corrected himself. "I am here to fight   
the Crimsom war…"  
  
"Crimean, Billy!" Screwing up his nose, he delivered the last of what seemed a   
rather lengthy dialogue, and hurried off to stage right. Upon his disappearance, the rear of   
the stage became lit and quickly, the play became an all out war, wooden broom handles   
and cap-gums running rampant in the hands of so many energetic young actors.   
  
Catherine and Grissom watched intently as the play moved forward with fewer   
complications. The moment Lindsey stepped onto the stage, dressed in the costume   
Catherine's sister had graciously made for the event, both wore smiles that stretched from   
ear to ear. "I told she would be adorable." Grissom whispered.  
  
"Thank my sister for that, I just cook. The sewing is her territory."  
  
"But she has your smile Catherine. That's something that only you could have   
done for her." He enjoyed the moment when she leaned close, resting her had on his   
shoulder as Lindsey began to recite the lines Catherine had heard so many nights in her   
painkiller induced stupors. 'Practice, sweetheart…practice makes perfect!' she'd   
mumbled through a closed bathroom door as Lindsey pranced up and down the hallway   
with a newspaper had and a toy doctor's kit.  
  
  
"She's my world." Catherine muttered sleepily, Grissom thankful that the play   
was nearing its end. Shaking her shoulder to keep her awake, her head shot up off his   
shoulder. "Sorry…"  
  
"I know you're tired. It's nearly finished." He replied as last lines were recited   
and the curtain closed. Parents everywhere stretched their limbs and shielded their eyes as   
the lights came back on.  
  
"Let's go get Linds…" She struggled from her seat and shrugged off his offered   
arm, shaking her head defiantly. "I can't have her seeing me like this, Grissom…it won't   
be for more than a few minutes. Margaret's taking her home tonight…and Eddie's taking   
her tomorrow."  
  
It was a harsh blow to Catherine, having to hand her child off to willing hands for   
days at a time, but with doctor's orders including bed rest…there was little she could do   
to argue the matter. And she made no attempts to try, as Grissom followed her through   
the hallways lit with florescent bulbs, Catherine's heeled boots clicking gently against the   
worn, mottled green tiles. There was a scent of old milk in the air, reminiscent from   
cafeteria lunches and unforeseen food fights, and Grissom found himself marveling at   
how little elementary schools had changed over the years.  
  
They found Lindsey's classroom after several minutes of walking, and entered to   
a gaggle of overexcited young bodies, parents hastily gathering up costume pieces and   
chatting briefly with Mrs. Peterberger, Lindsey's third grade teacher, and the director of   
the play.  
  
"Ms. Willows! So glad you could make it! Lindsey was hoping you would be   
here." Catherine mustered the best smile she could as she shook the woman's hand, fully   
aware that Mrs. Peterberger's eyes were analyzing and categorizing her every feature,   
and motion.  
  
"I wouldn't miss it for the world…Gil Grissom…this is Mrs. Peterberger,   
Lindsey's teacher…." Grissom extended his hand as Catherine introduced the two of   
them, distrustful of the teacher's watchful eye.  
  
"It's a pleasure." The educator grasped Grissom's hand in a vise-like grip for a   
moment, before turning her eyes to Catherine once again. "Ms. Willows…Lindsey was   
brought in by a relative earlier…your sister, was it?" At Catherine's affirmative nod, the   
woman continued. "It's our preference that, unless pressing business declares   
otherwise…the parents be the one's to prepare their child for the performance. It makes   
the other parents less… wary, you know, at having their child among strangers."  
  
"My sister is hardly a stranger," Catherine bristled, and Grissom reached to   
squeeze her right hand balled into a fist behind her back. "I apologize for the   
inconvenience, and it shouldn't be a problem."  
  
"Are you certain?" The persistence of third graders could certainly be credited to   
their teacher, Grissom mused, as the question was presented. "If there is any reason for   
concern, Catherine…"  
  
" No, there isn't." And with that note, Catherine turned to kneel at eye level of a   
blonde figure, back to the adult trio, struggling noticeably to remove several massive   
hairpins from beneath and oversized white felt nurses cap. "Lindsey, sweetheart?"  
  
"Mommy!" the girl's voice shouted, and then whispered, "Could you help me?"  
  
"Sure baby." Catherine replied, taking out the pins and lifting the white hat off of   
her daughter's head.  
  
"I didn't think you were coming… I thought you would sleep all day…did uncle   
Grissom take good care of you?" At that, Mrs. Peterberger raised an eyebrow, adding one   
more fault to the list she had obviously already created in her mind.  
  
"Linds…you were great."   
  
"You're avoiding my question mommy."  
  
"We'll talk about it later...ok? You go have fun with Jeremy tonight…mommy'll   
see you soon."  
  
With that the child scampered off leaving Catherine and Grissom alone with Mrs.   
Peterberger. "You ready Cath?" he asked, as she grasped his hand and got up from her   
crouched position.  
  
"Yea Gil. Let's go." His hand moved to the small of her back, the action not lost   
on the teacher that had been standing with them, her finding their behavior more than a   
little odd, and leaving question in her, whether or not, Ms. Willows, was exactly what she   
seemed.  
  
TBC. 


	5. Part 5

A/N: The last part of the last fic for the 12 days of Christmas…I hope you have enjoyed   
the ride…for this story, and all the others that have been posted for the holiday season.   
Merry Christmas everyone.  
  
Allison.  
  
"A Season of Change' Part 5  
  
  
It was a ten minute drive back to Catherine's house from the school, and she slept   
the entire way, relishing in the much needed sleep. She longed for her bed, and soon she   
was there, under her covers, bleary-eyed, letting the warmth of the sheets envelop her.   
Slowly her eyes closed, and sleep overcame her, as Grissom kissed her cheek, and pushed   
her blonde hair behind her ears, before walking out into the kitchen.  
  
His pager was vibrating on the counter, and he picked it up, recognizing at once,   
the number of CSI. Grabbing Catherine's phone off the hook, he dialed the number and   
waited for someone to pick up.  
  
"Grissom, it's Nick."   
  
"What's up? Something important come up?" he asked, searching for a pot in   
Catherine's cupboard.  
  
"Warrick and I were just wondering what was going on with our Christmas   
party…it's supposed to start in an hour"  
  
Grissom groaned inwardly, realizing he had forgotten that the party was at his   
townhouse, by Catherine's insistence. And she wasn't in any shape to go, or be left alone,   
for that matter.  
  
"Nick…I need to speak with Warrick."   
  
"Sure." Confusions was layered thick in the CSI's voice as he handed off the   
phone. Footsteps could be heard, and then the exchange was made.  
  
"Hey Gris, it's Warrick."  
  
"Catherine's pretty sick Warrick…she needs someone to stay with her. I'm here   
now…you're going to have to have the party somewhere else."  
  
On the other end, Warrick wondered how Grissom could have ended up looking   
after the blonde CSI, shrugging off his suspicions, and Sara's conversation from earlier.   
'He is a friend', Warrick thought, Catherine must not have had anyone else to call on   
Christmas Eve.  
  
"We'll take care of it. Tell Catherine to get well."  
  
"Thanks. I will. Bye."  
  
Clicking off the phone and opening the fridge, he pulled out ingredients and   
began to prepare some soup… glad Catherine was able to rest peacefully in the other   
room.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Grissom and Catherine sure are missing one hell of a party," Greg shouted,   
downing his third glass of egg nog, some escaping out of the glass and onto his chin.   
There was no doubt the young lab technician was enjoying himself.  
  
"I don't think Catherine would be enjoying herself if she was here," Warrick   
replied. "You didn't see her last night, she looked awful."  
  
"And Grissom said he is staying with her…I wonder why that is?"  
  
Nicks question voiced the concerns that all the CSI's were thinking at the   
moment. Gazes went from one person to the other, no one able to answer it. "Well, they   
are missing out," Greg repeated, moving through the crowd, and back into the party.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Around 11:30 p.m., Grissom heard the rustling of sheets coming from the   
bedroom, signaling that Catherine had woken up. Gathering the food he had made for   
her, he entered the dimly lit room, and set the tray on the bed.  
  
"You're beautiful when you just wake up," he smiled, kissing the top of her   
forehead. It still warm, but looking at her face, he saw that some of the fatigue had   
disappeared.  
  
"Grissom," she groaned, "I'm a mess."  
  
"Catherine, you're a beautiful mess. One that needs to eat."  
  
"Not hungry. I'll eat it later. Just stay here for a minute." She replied, burying her   
face into his chest. He kicked off his shoes, and gathered her into his arms. Tiny blonde   
hairs tickled his nostrils, the sweet smell of her hair overcoming his senses. "Just want   
you." Came another reply, through a series of yawns.  
  
Laying his head back against the headboard, he stroked her cheek, stifling his own   
small yawn. Glancing downward, he found that she had already returned to her peaceful   
slumber. Sick or not, she was lovely when she slept, her blonde hair falling over her face   
just so. The lids covering his ocean blue eyes drooped, and he yawned again. Soon he to   
was asleep, his arms tightly around her, letting her face haunt his dreams.  
  
Christmas Morning—10:00 a.m.  
  
The shrill tone of the phone had woken her up, hands fumbling for the cordless as   
she untangled herself from Grissom's arms. In her, only half awake mind she wondered   
who would possibly be calling her at this hour on Christmas. 'Lindsey', she thought, as   
she hit the talk button.  
  
"Hello? Willow's residence."  
  
"Ms. Willow's, Dr. Mendel… sorry to wake you on Christmas…I have your test   
results back… they all came back negative, no new cancer cells have formed…" A smile   
tugged at the corners of her mouth, breaking out into very relieved sigh. "You have the   
stomach flu…the fact that your immune system hasn't fully bounced back yet, could   
account for the severity of your symptoms…but I still don't want you working at least for   
a few days…outside infections can be very serious."  
  
"Thank you…I appreciate you calling so soon."  
  
"Merry Christmas Ms. Willows."  
  
"Merry Christmas to you too."  
  
Hanging up the phone and crawling back under the covers, she let out the first real   
breath she'd had, in two whole days. She rolled over onto her stomach, her eyes   
connecting with Grissom's, the clear blue of them, shining brightly.  
  
"It was negative."  
  
And his lips met hers, exploring them as if he hadn't felt or tasted them in a   
lifetime. Running her fingers through his soft gray curls, she dug her tongue into his   
mouth, in a deep, hard passionate kiss. It lasted only a few mere moments as he let up,   
and planted a few light kisses along the base of her neck before, finding her lips one last   
time.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Catherine." He whispered, her head now on his shoulder. And   
for the two them, there was no doubt that it truly was.  
  
The End. 


End file.
